Blurred Lines
by began-to-climb
Summary: Claire is our family. She's only seventeen. She isn't some subject you can send around the world thinking it'll fix all your problems. It doesn't work that way. [Paire]ON HIATUS!
1. Saying Goodbye

**Name: **Blurred Lines

**Rating: **PG-13 (for now)

**Summary: **A year after the bomb exploded, New York City is still trying to repair the damage. When Nathan tries to send Claire to Paris to live to escape the mania of reconstruction, Peter volunteers to go with her. A year alone in a new city can blur a lot of lines.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters, except for a few cameos. This is slight alternate universe.

**Authors Note: **I hope you guys like this. And, by the way, don't forget to submit nominations for the first ever Paire Fanfiction Awards located at Paire Love on livejournal.

XXXX

_"I'm going with her." _

_Claire and Nathan whipped their heads around in unison, shock countered on their expressions. Claire, lips pried apart, spoke first, choking on the words. "What?"_

_Nathan stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Peter, I understand that—"_

_Peter dropped his hand from his lips, crossing his arms over his chest. "No, Nathan, you don't understand. Claire is our family. She's only seventeen. She isn't some subject you can send around the world thinking it'll solve every problem. It doesn't work like that." Peter took a defiant step towards his brother, glancing at Claire. "If you send her away, I'm going with her."_

XXXX

"Claire! Will you please hurry up? We're going to miss our flight!"

Peter Petrelli tapped his foot impatiently on the hardwood floor, arms uncomfortably crossed on his stomach, and waited, drumming his fingers to the beat of his foot. Two messenger bags were slung around his neck, one attached to either hip, and a rolling suitcase was at his feet, propped up against the cream wall. Peter, adorned in a casual black sports blazer and slacks with a white shirt, his ebony-locks strewn across his forehead, was a stark comparison against the sun-filtered hallway.

He barely glanced over as Nathan Petrelli, dressed as the President should, came trotting up the stairs and down the hall, hurrying in order to catch the pair before they jetted off. Peter instead checked his watch for the third time, noting that the long hand was stretching towards the three and the small hand was slumbering on the seven. He shifted anxiously, trying to refrain himself from calling to the blonde teenager in the bedroom he was currently stationed outside of.

He watched her scurry across the small bedroom, rushing around to various desk and dresser drawers to snatch up last minute accommodations then back to the one bag spread open on the bed. Peter's mother, Angela, folded clothes, running through a memorized list to be sure Claire had everything packed, unusually calm while the petite teenager and edgy son were panicked about not making their eight-thirty flight. They'd almost made it out of the room, both suitcases in hand, twice, until Claire had forgotten to get a few books out or Angela had yanked her back with something in her hand.

Peter groaned, shifting. "Claire."

Angela darted to the door, annoyed with her son's impatience. "Give her a minute."

"Calm down, Peter." Nathan agreed from beside him.

Peter's eyes flickered over to him then back to the bedroom where Claire was trying to push the suitcase down to fit the mad mass of things inside. "I just hate being late for things."

"We won't be late. Our plane doesn't leave for over an hour." Claire called, followed by the zing as the zipper clasped to the tracks. "There. Done." she quipped, pride etched in her tone.

"Are you ready?" Peter asked, straightening painfully when Claire dumped her bags on to the floor with a thud.

Just as Peter was about to venture forward to assist with the bags, Nathan moved first, smiling sweetly at his daughter while grabbing one of the bags handles. Claire brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and thanked him, securing the other bag in her grip and exited behind Angela. She stood beside Peter, beaming at him, and nudged him playfully; she knew he tended to take things too seriously nowadays. But she didn't blame him. After the bomb had exploded just over a year ago, everyone took things seriously because there was no room to laugh and joke when the city was still in ruins and a good percent of the population was dead.

Claire locked her hand in his, noting the slight mitigation in his countenance at her touch, and let him lead her down the hall, the wheels skidding on the floor behind her. The foursome traveled through the house, Peter ushering Claire to hand over her bag at the stairs, both trying to tune Angela and Nathan out as they talked over one another. Hiedi and Nathan's sons, holding their locked hands in their laps, were waiting for the departing pair at the front door, the glimpse of a buzzing yellow taxi visible through the open front door.

Peter didn't halt at the front door as Claire was prepared to do; still holding her hand, he dragged her down the walkway to the cab, the rest of the family at their heels.

"Why are you in a rush?" Claire whispered to him as he loaded Claire's bags into the trunk with his. "We're moving away for a year. The least you can do is say good-bye."

Peter glanced at her then peeked over her shoulder at his waiting family. They looked so innocent standing there, the perfect American family, a portrait unscathed by the tragedy and sorrow that had come about in the past year and a half. Peter shook his head at Claire, unwilling to disrupt that mirage, and slammed the trunk, circling the cab to talk to the driver.

Claire watched him then spun around to say good-bye. They may have not been the ideal family that she'd grown up, but they were the people that made an attempt to make her feel at home in their lives, especially after the explosion. She hugged each of them, starting with Angela and working down to eye-level with Monty and Simon.

The boys rolled their eyes with their father's stubbornness as they reluctantly hugged her. "You boys be good, okay?" Both boys nodded and let Claire go.

Slowly, she rose to meet Nathan's blank face. "Bye, Dad."

Nathan hinted at a smile, wrapping his arms around her in a tender embrace. "Don't drink too much. And keep your nose out of other's people's business. Get a good job. And look after Peter."

Claire nodded, drawing back and whipping away tears. She tried to smile, but it was futile. She was leaving the comfort she'd become accustomed to through so much for a foreign city on the other side of the world. Though she had Peter and would be living with him, she knew that there would be certain things that he wouldn't be able to do. Who was she going to gossip with? Who was going to coach her as she cooked? Who was let her watch cartoons instead of CNN when she had a bad day? And who was going to throw pieces of bread at her during dinner?

There were certain traditions that she'd gotten so used to and now she was being sent around the world with any of those securities. The thought frightened her.

Suddenly, she flinched as something knocked behind her. She turned around and noticed Peter in the backseat, posed at the window, holding his wrist up expectantly. She jabbed a finger in the air, forcing him to give her another minute, and turned back around, subconsciously walking towards the door.

"I guess this is good-bye." She sniffed. "We'll call you when we land."

Nathan and Angela nodded and joined in waving the pair off. Claire opened the door and slid into the seat next to Peter, who was fidgeting with his phone, sticking her hand out the window when the cab rolled down the street. The driver blended with the city traffic and Claire retracted her hand, crouching on the seat to stare out the back window.

"Claire…" Peter said, craning his head to get her attention. His hand rested on the small of her back.

Claire looked down at him, hearing the change in his voice. He lightly tugged on her coat, urging her to settle for the ride to the airport, black hair swept over his caring eyes. Claire sunk into the leather seat, buckling in, and propped her elbow on the window seal, chin tucked into the nook of her palm.

Peter reached over and took her hand, letting it rest on her leg. She looked over at him. "It'll be okay. We'll be fine."

Claire nodded, inhaling to keep the tears from falling. "I know. It's just hard."

She waited for a response reassuring her that it was okay to be scared since they were entering a strange city and that someone was there to keep her safe, but the reassurance never came. Peter chose to act instead of speak. He brought her hand to his lips and tenderly kissed her knuckle, staring out at the rubble passing them, nothing but gray smoke and dimming hope.

Their conjoined hands, for them a symbol of protection, lay beside them.

XXXX


	2. Stuck in Atlanta

**Authors Note: **Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter. Just one more episode of Heroes till next season; how will we survive? But I hope this keeps you sort of occupied over the summer for your Heroes fix. Here's chapter two.

XXXX

Claire tediously flipped the pages of the April issue of Elle, the glossy pages slipping through her fingers with a slice of the hand, cutting across the edges. Collages of pictures, meshed together in a pattern of vibrancy and anguishing vortexes, were splashed page after page, mesmerizing attention in dull eyes. Runaway models and clothing coated each glossy page, overlapping the background and examples of the latest trends. Claire tilted her head, her eyes skimming the celebrities donning their latest coiffures.

She was less interested in the content of the hefty magazine and more so with her surroundings, forcing herself to concentrate on the fashion landscape than the crowd buzzing around her. The people, pressed with uneasiness, circled the maze of seats, cell phones glued to their ears or books stuffed to their noses. A man in the corner had his laptop plugged into the circuit by the pay phones, his fingers ferociously typing away on the keypad. A baby cried two rows behind her, her loquacious wail muffling her mothers soothing lullaby and fathers rattling technique. A group of high school students tossing their TSA backpacks to the carpet were assembling in the back, both schools meshing together in an excited, yet frustrated chatter.

Claire uncrossed and crossed her legs, repositioning the magazine in her lap, and elbowed the arms rest, inching closer to Peter. As anxious as the others flyers were making her, Peter had to be the worse of them. She repeatedly looked at him, asking him to quite fidgeting and occupy himself, but he only obtained her suggestion for a certain period of time before returning to his fidgeting. He checked his watch, flicking his wrist up to his face, and glanced at the flight attendants at the desk with a disapproving groan.

By now, everyone was becoming antsy confined in the small gate. The Atlanta Airport, though beautiful with its windows and silver lining, was an average too small for the passengers of Delta Twenty-two. After landing from JFK without fault and consequence, the Paris-bound troop expected a quick two-hour layover before boarding the over-night plane ride. Unfortunately, their luck had run out. Now pressing on six o'clock, the airline had already ushered the passengers from one gate to another and had informed them that the plane was already delayed due to maintenance. That, in itself, was followed by further unrest.

Peter nudged Claire; her eyes settled on him. "I'm starving. Do you want anything?"

Claire straightened, stretching her sore legs. "I don't know. Where are you going?"

Peter shrugged, already beginning to maneuver his bags so they occupied his spot in his absence. "I saw a Quizno's and a Panda Express. Mostly likely one of those. Which one would you like?"

Claire opened her mouth, considered her options for a moment, and then clamped her lips shut again. "I'm not very hungry, and we get food on the plane, so can you just get me a Diet Coke?"

Peter nodded, fishing his wallet out of his pants and rifting through his bills, pushing aside the Euro's over flowing the folds. "You know it'll be nasty plane food, right?" Claire shrugged, her lips craning into a smile. Peter sighed. "Okay. I'll be back in about a bit. Don't move."

Claire nodded, rolling her eyes sarcastically at his usual protective demeanor. She watched him trot through the bands of people, weaving around the high schoolers collapsed on the floor and molding into the people wandering in both directions. Within seconds he was gone and she returned to Elle, flipping the page to the main article on Rachel McAdams. She sunk in her seat, tucking her foot underneath her, and began reading the interview with the "next America's sweetheart," stopping once to admire the red carpet gowns coating the pink-streaked actresses body.

XXXX

…_which remained some time after the rest of her was gone._

The static interrupting the soft music floating from the intercom shook Claire from the article fifteen minutes later, causing her to flinch inwardly and inhale sharply, her heart beat accelerating suddenly. She glared up at the voice crackling above her, joined by a few of the people surrounding her.

"Delta passengers, I regret to inform you that we will, once again, be switching gates." A chorus of groans and vulgar yelps exclaimed in unison. "The flight to Bora Bora needs to use our gate so we will be changing to 47D. We apologize for the inconvenience."

Pandemonium standing at once, everyone surrounding Claire began to rise to their feet, gathering their companions and their bags in their hands quickly before trooping off to the left in packs, muttering to complete strangers who had manifested into allies in the three hours confined together. Claire was slow and agonizing, stuffing her magazine into her purse, then staring down at the mess of items she was responsible for transferring to the new gate. Lips stretched to the side, she positioned Peter's messenger bag over her shoulder and purse in the nook of her elbow, throwing Peter's coat on her arm and bedding his sunglasses in her hair.

She fell in stride with a pair of college women, trudging with them and the others down the long walkway to the new gate. Frustrated whispers clouded the air around her, but she ignored the hostility. She was already exhausted from a day of traveling and arguing over the incompetence of the airport staff was not going to give her more energy. Just as she was passing 51D, she caught a glimpse of Peter heading in her direction, sack of fast food wrung around his wrist. She hurried over to him, soliciting his attention with a yelp of his name.

"Hey. They changed our gate, again. I got your bag." Claire said hurried, pressing on while handing Peter is coat.

"My sunglasses?" Peter asked worriedly.

"On my head."

"Do you need any help?"

"No, I've got it. There's only three gates to go."

Peter nodded and didn't ask again. He knew that asking Claire the same thing more than once, even if it was reworded, was a pet peeve of hers. She hated repeating herself over anything. Seconds later, Peter's step faltered.

"Claire." He said, bending down to grab something. "Your watch." Claire slowed slightly, looking back at him, expecting Peter to hand if off, but he didn't. "I got it."

Smiling, she led the way to the gate in sight, their pace picking up to grab room for themselves to crash for however much longer they were going to be delayed. They wove around the mass of people settling for a second time and collapsed in a couple seats in the back of the room, sitting across from some of the teens in the tour group. Claire immediately set her purse down in the seat next to her and shrugged off the messenger back, rolling her neck to relieve the kinks as she did so. Peter sat down, unwrapping his sandwich from Quizno's and stuffing the turkey on wheat bread into his mouth, grinning at Claire with a flip of his black bangs.

"Where's mine?" Claire asked, inching to the tip of her seat and peering around Peter.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot it." Peter replied, drawing a coke cup to his lips, the straw disappearing behind his tongue.

Claire's eyes narrowed menacingly. She lurched for the cup. "Gimme that!"

Peter took another bite of his sandwich and watched her greedily sip her drink, glaring at him. "So bossy."

"You're not cute, you know." Claire brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, swiping her long locks back, and noticed a girl stop talking to one of the people sitting in the circle at their feet and stare at them. The girls smiled at each other. "Boys."

The girl laughed and carefully eased herself into the circle that had convened in the center of the aisle. The only boy in the group of five girls, his golden surfer locks shadowing his eyes, drew out a deck of black Playboy cards and began to shuffle them, building them into a swishing bridge and allowing the girl beside him cut only to repeat his shuffling technique. Claire abandoned her drink on the seat beside her and stood, looming over the group.

"Hey, can I join in?" she asked with a small voice.

The boy glanced up at her and his smile broadened, while the girl who had smiled at her nodded, scooting over to make room for her. Claire giggled and plopped down, crossing her legs in an Indian style sit.

"What are we playing?" she inquired, watching the boy deal the deck out to each of the players.

"Egyptian Ratscrew." he replied casually, his hands not faltering in dealing until the entire deck was dealt.

Claire collected her cards, careful not to turn them over, and waited as the game circled the group. Each person flopped down a card, going around once then twice, with the minor jack and queen's followed by the necessary number of burns in hopes of another face card. Claire placed two cards down before she was cornered by a jack and lost a ten. Two people down, a three on the ground, one of the girls put down another three. Six arms shot out like bullets out of a rifle, grabbling for the pair slap, hands dog-piling on top of each other in a frantic attempt for dominance. Claire shrieked from the sudden movement, hands retracted in fear, the complete opposite of the motive.

In the end, the same girl who laid it down accepted the pile of delicious advantage. The game convened again. Right then, the girl beside Claire, the one who had let her in, turned to her, her thin lips prying apart.

She stuck her hand out. "I'm Megan." Claire shook her hand, hastily laying down her card, Megan following. "That's Emily, Sarah, Rae, Jason, and Jenny."

Claire's eyes lingered on each of the introduced characters, noting how everyone except Jason and Jenny tore their attention from the game long enough to acknowledge her presence. The two, Jenny obviously a year older than Jason, seemed to be in a playful war over who would win. Noticing Claire's attention on the pair of dueling friends, Megan leaned over and whispered in her ear a secret; Jenny and Jason had crushes on each other.

Claire giggled. "Well, I'm Claire. And…" She looked over her shoulder; Peter was checking his phone, half-eaten sandwich abandoned beside him. "That's Peter."

"What's up." Peter muttered, not looking up from the micro-screen.

"You'll have to forgive him for his obliviousness. He's sort of obsessed with that thing." Claire said, tossing a look at Megan.

"I wouldn't be if Nathan wasn't texting me every five seconds wondering why we haven't called." Peter responded.

"He doesn't text." Claire shot back.

"Whatever." Peter said, mimicking Claire's voice and classic toss of hair. He glanced up at her; she dropped her cards and cupped her fingers together to form a misshapen heart. He rolled his eyes.

"Where are you guys from?" Claire questioned.

"Texas." They chorused automatically, not even a hitch of hesitance in their voices.

"Let's play." Rae whined.

The game continued on, Emily and Sarah soon losing their cards until they were out. Each pair or sandwich that appeared in the stack, Jenny and Jason were the first to grab for it, making it nearly impossible for any one else. They'd hold each other's hands there, staring at one another as if they were each daring the other to give up. Eventually, a system was formed: rock, paper, scissors.

Then Megan was out. She turned to Claire, who was dwindling on the brink. "So, what's with you and Peter? Are ya'll dating?"

"What?" Claire's head whipped around to her. "Peter and me? No. We're actually related. He's my uncle."

Megan's mouth fell open, as did Sarah's who'd heard the tidbit of information. "Whoa, what?"

"How's that possible? You two look nothing alike." Sarah quipped.

"I can hear all three of you." Peter eased down next to Claire, purposely stationing himself extremely close to her, his knee resting on her leg. "Can I slap in?"

The question, directed to anyone in general, was abruptly unanswered due to the animalistic sounds reverberating from both Jason and Jenny's throats. Heads turned and eyes gawked at the pair; both teens were gazing at each other, both their hands resting on a stack, fingers underneath fingers. The winner was inconceivable. The slightest pitch of noise came from their mouths, continuing on for what felt like forever. Then Megan, Emily and Rae burst out laughing. Claire and Peter, slightly puzzled by the outburst, stared at the trio, Claire straining to hear the hushed conversation between the girls. She wanted to desperately know why this was particularly so funny.

Claire nudged Megan and the girls ushered her closer, wanting to include her in the gossip. "They sound like a mating call." Claire couldn't help, but laugh.

"Okay…never mind." Peter said.

"No. Here, play for me then." Claire said, stuffing the thin deck into his hands.

Peter shrugged. In minutes he ousted Rae then Jenny, until it was only he and Jason in a sparring match. The girls divided into sides for fun, half rooting for Peter and the other half for Jason. Claire, molded close to him, cheered for Peter, talking to him in his ear just as Jenny was doing for Jason. Really, the girls were only laughing at the silliness of it. The sight of these two men going at it in a mind game like animals fighting over a mate was quite comical.

With one card in Peter's hand and the other fifty-one in Jason's, a delicious stack lying between them, waiting to know which way to scoot, it was Peter's turn. More or less, the game was over. The card in Peter's hand revealed itself…a ten. Game over. A hush of sadness fell over the three girls cheering for him while victory cried amongst the others.

Peter reached over and shook Jason's hand in good sportsmanship. Claire rested her chin on his shoulder, gazing up at him with fraud sympathy. Peter tilted his head; his head pressed on hers.

"Aw." Emily said. She made an imaginary camera with her hands and pretended to click a picture of them.

Claire stuck her tongue out at her, tucking her legs underneath her and bracing her palm on the carpet behind her. Peter, smirking mischievously, stood up with everyone else, Claire staring up at him, and playfully shoved Claire. As a reflex, she reached out and grabbed his wrist before she could fall. Landing on her back, Peter fell on top of her, their faces hovering over each other. He scrambled off of her immediately. Claire blushed furiously at the close contact and got up on shaky legs, refusing to meet Peter's eyes.

"Delta passengers, we are happy to report that our plane is ready and we will begin boarding in five minutes." a woman's voice on the intercom happily announced.

The gate broke into joyous applause, some of the boys whooping like football players, Emily and Jenny giggling. Yet, within seconds, the news had settled and the applause ended. People started to organize their belongings in anticipation of the boarding, talking to their companions who were still being lazy.

Peter sauntered over to Claire who was collecting the contents of her purse after dumping her coke. He shrugged on his coat. "And it's only eight."

Claire smiled at him, nudging him, and went about her business. Finally, they were leaving. They were saying good-bye to the tragedy of their past and welcoming a clean slate. Claire licked her lips; she hoped they were ready.

XXXX

**A/N: **Did you like it? Please review.


	3. Hours Ticking By

**Authors Note: **Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story. I am officially out of school! No more tests or reviews or SAT prep for over three months. Yay! And this means I get to write at every open opportunity.

So, I did rewrite this chapter because the previous one just did not feel right. I had to sleep on it, and this came out of me waking up to work at seven in the morning. I'm not completely sure if it's any better, but it's not as scattered as the previous. And there really was not point in singling out one conversation in an eight-hour flight. So much happens in eight hours, stuck next to someone; things happen, it's true…cause everything in this chapter happened to me with my guy friend that I like-liked at that time. Hence, I decided to pick out small moments on the ride. So, I hope this is a tad more satisfying then the previous chapter three.

Here's chapter three, rewritten.

XXXX

The plane was going to be eight hours and twenty-three minutes. They were scheduled to land at ten the next morning. It was just past nine-thirty.

The cabin was abnormally quiet. Despite the exhaustion of the day's fatigue, almost every passenger was awake, only the very few curled against the crook of their seats with their lights above their head switched off. Flight attendants, finished with their routine checks, breezed down the aisles, smiling at the passengers and pausing to speak with someone who solicited their attention before continuing to the back of the plane where other attendants had assembled. The busy bees hastily yanked the rolling containers from the cabinets of the plane corners and prepared to distribute the night's dinner, pulling drawers from underneath and ripping seals from the packages. Men and women unscathed by the desire to sleep as the plane vibrated rhythmically chatted with the people sitting beside them, hooked their headphones to the monitors for a movie or found their interest peaked by their own entertainment.

Claire craned her neck to glance around her, straightening painfully to satisfy her curiosity, absorbing who was around. She brushed the headphones off her ears and noted that the small group that she had befriended earlier were all, consequentially, sitting together and poking a slumbering Sarah, the other girls giggling while Jason ignored their juvenile antics, concentrating on the film he was engrossed in. Emily, sitting two rows in front of Claire to her left caught her stare and smiled pleasantly; Claire returned the amiable gesture.

The man in front of her suddenly stood, glancing cautiously at the woman sleeping beside him, and traipsed down the swaying aisle to the crammed bathrooms four rows in front of them. Claire settled back into her seat, cushioning the pillow her head, and stared at fluorescent figures gallivanting on the small screen, causing mass mayhem. Peter was dancing along to the Rocky theme song to her left, occasionally nudging her with his elbow as his fist shot out to mimic Rocky's punches_. Night at the Museum_ played out on her screen, Robin Williams snapping at Ben Stiller for having a slap-fight with a small monkey.

She pressed the pause button, freezing the upset night guard, and pulled the blanket strewn over her body farther over her legs. Peter shot a glance at her, eyebrow rising, and yanked the blanket back towards him playfully, earning a narrow of the eyes. The other blanket underneath the own they were fighting over slowly crumbled to the floor, forgotten in the dispute.

Peter paused Rocky and shoved the headphones off his ears, taking a fist full of scratchy fabric in his hand. "Do you wanna fight?"

Claire smirked, shrugging. "Maybe. What'cha gonna do?"

Peter shook his head, rolling his eyes, and was just about to cuff the headphones back over his ears when two stewardesses rolling a metal container parked on their aisle. The women, a tall blonde and a black woman with a charismatic smile, greeted the couple cheerfully, flashing a smile then going about their job. The blonde pulled out a drawer overflowing with beverages, leaning towards the couple in front of Peter and Claire to inquire about their drink of choice. Claire twisted the knob on the seat and her plastic tray fell into her lap helplessly, tracing her finger around the engraved circle meant for harboring the cups.

"Hi." Marisa, as identified from the nametag pinned to the lapel of her navy jacket, addressed Peter. "What would you like to drink? We have wine or beer, if you'd like."

"Um…water sounds good." Peter said.

Marisa nodded and knelt down to retrieve the pitcher of water from the bottom shelf, pouring the crystal liquid into the clear cup. Folding a napkin lamented with the airline's emblem underneath the cup, she handed the drink to Peter, who had yet to unfold the tray from its restraint.

"What about you, sweetie? Coke, lemonade?" Marisa offered, hand poised on the shelf reserved for cokes.

"I'll have a glass of red wine." Claire answered, shooting a glance at a wide-eyed Peter.

"No." Peter corrected, turning to Marisa. "She'll have a coke."

Claire popped Peter in the arm, which he ignored with ease. "I'll have lemonade, please." Marisa nodded, giggling to herself at the pair's childishness. _You spoke for me_, she thought pointedly.

Peter shrugged then handed off the cup of sloshing dull yellow substance. Marisa replaced the drawer in its slot then dove down to open another, steam instantly evaporating into the air, the aroma flowing out with it. She offered another option: chicken or pork? Both chose the first option, identical plates set on their trays, the clear wrapping constricting the meat, turning red from the juices pressed forth.

Then the women progressed up the aisle, halting once again behind them. While Peter meticulously broke open the seal, agonizingly stripping it off without spilling any grain of dinner, Claire popped open the utensil sack, uncrinkling the napkin to her right and placing the knife, fork and spoon in their rightful place.

"That's good rice." Peter quipped beside her, picking a forkful of brown rice from the plate and stuffing it into his mouth.

Claire smothered a smile and explored the contents of her dinner, poking various items with the needles of her fork. The grilled chicken was swimming in murky sauce, the grains of brown rice floating around like charging vessels in the sea. A pack of croutons and ranch dressing were settled in a sliver destined to house utensils, condiments for the square salad to the far right of the tray, a hefty wheat roll beside it. And smack-dab in the middle square was a container of water and a Ms. Beards cookie. Claire extracted the cookie and the water, setting them off to the side, and lurched for the roll, tearing off pieces and tossing them in her mouth.

"Hey, do you want my water?" she asked, noticing Peter gulp down the water in one thug.

Peter pitched the roll from its place and handed it to her, trading the roll for the water. Claire squeaked. "Have you tried the rice yet?"

"You and rice." Claire mocked, shaking her disapprovingly.

Peter stuck his tongue out her in retaliation, sticking his fork in her untouched salad, thinking it was going to bother her. She merely shrugged, finishing her first roll and moving onto the rice. "You can have it. Mm, that is good."

"Told ya." Peter said, pointing an 'ha' finger at her. "Why don't you want your salad?"

Claire turned her nose up at the thought of eating something green and healthy. Salad was definitely in a Texas diet and, after years of living by the diet of fajitas and hamburgers, she wasn't about to change that just for plane food. She shoved the plate to the edge of the tray, Peter mimicking her actions, and carefully transferred the food to him, strips of carrots and croutons and all.

"Crazy girl." Peter muttered. Claire smiled, casting a side-glance at him, lightly elbowing him.

XXXX

By ten-fifty dinner was long over, new drinks were distributed and people were falling asleep. The flight attendants were running through another routine check, pausing at every passenger with their overhead light still shining brightly, asking it there was anything they needed before trying to go to sleep.

Peter had a notebook spread eagle on his tray, his hand moving swiftly across the slick white paper, pen doodling or scribbling notes on the blue lines. His head tilted away from Claire, he focused on the book, the bind proclaiming a tour guide of France, hanging over the edge. He wasn't oblivious to his surroundings, especially the slumbering couple in front of them who were snoring, not too loud but definitely not soft enough to be ignored.

Nor was he able to ignore Claire who was thumbing her way through the library of songs on his iPods, which they were sharing at the moment, one earphone each. It was her tradition to find one particular song she liked and let it play while she continued through the list, the blue bar highlighting the artist's name ranging from Johnny Cash to Kayne West. Right now the soothing melody of Sarah McLachlan was singing _Angel_, yet Claire's thumb drifted through the wreckage of lost lullabies, passing kings and queens of song until she landed on the princess of dance. Checking into the subgroups, she rocketed into the poison of choice.

_I'm the kinda girl that hangs with the guys  
Like a fly on the wall with my secret eyes  
Takin it in, try to be feminine  
With my makeup bag watchin all the sin_

The pen fell limp in Peter's hand. His eyes drew over to her; she beamed and started dancing in her seat, mouthing the words. Her movements were liquid, her back arching so her arms could slither in the air and run through the tendrils of her hair, gasping into the air like the music was the oxygen to her lungs. Peter watched her for a few seconds, intrigued by her energy and her enthusiasm, but eventually went back to work, trying to hide his lips as they moved with the words.

_Misfit, I sit  
Lit up, wicked  
Everybody else surrounded by the girls  
With the tank tops and the flirty words_

Claire stole her unused napkin from the corner of the tray and found a pen while digging in her purse, pushing it back down under the seat. She quickly scribbled _Hey baby_ _(heart) u_ on the delicate paper. Then she placed the note on Peter's desk. He glanced at it, not acknowledging Claire, then wrote a response, pushing it back to her. _(Heart) u 2._

Just then a stewardess sauntered past, flipping her thick blonde curls over her shoulder, looking down shyly then reconnecting her gaze as she beamed at Peter. His eyes wandered as she passed him, forcing himself not to turn in his seat and stare back at her. Instead, he went back to notes…only to have Claire slap the napkin right in front of him.

_Flirt! _

Peter smiled. _Jealous?_

Claire rolled her eyes. _Oh, yes, Peter I am soo jealous. Why don't you like me?_

Peter chuckled, crumbling the napkin in his palm, and threw it at Claire, causing her to squeal. They smiled at each other, Claire changing the song.

XXXX

"Why did I volunteer to watch this with you again?"

Claire glared at Peter. "Because you love me."

"Yeah, but…I'm not a chick flick guy."

"Yeah, but even a non-chick flick guy can appreciate the bond between Richard Gere and Julia Roberts."

"She's a hooker!" Peter exclaimed, gesturing ferociously towards the screen where Julia Roberts was strutting down Rodero Drive, adorned in a mini-skirt and a white cut off shirt only held together by two metal loops.

An older woman in the row next to them shushed them instantly, finger to her wrinkled lips. Claire apologized, muffling Peter's breath. "Hooker or not, this is still the Cinderella story, Peter. It's the perfect fantasy."

"Perfect fantasies aren't real, Claire, and you should know that better than anyone. There's no knight in shining whatever ready to save the damsel in distress. There's no falling in love after one minute."

"Sure there is. I've seen it happen." She paused, her eyes connecting with his. "I'm staring at my knight in shining whatever."

Peter stared at her, considering how best to respond to that statement. "You're such a chick." he finally said.

"You're such a dude." Claire fired back.

XXXX

Sleep was catching up with Claire. Her watch had just struck one and her eyes were fluttering shut. She sighed and leaned into the cushion of the pillow, pinning the pillow between her head and the plane's wall, which was trembling rhythmically. Her legs tucked securely underneath her, she pulled the blanket up to her chest, covering her arms littered with goosebumps.

Peter turned the page in his book, shifting slightly as Claire's feet, lain in his lap, grazed his thigh. "Claire, go to sleep."

"I'm not tired." she moaned.

"Yes you are. Sleep. We have still have at least eight hours left on this plane."

Claire didn't respond to the information. Eight hours was a long time, giving her more than enough time to sleep. She knew that Peter wouldn't because he'd mentioned how hard it was for him to sleep on a plane as they were boarding. The cabin was quiet, except for the occasionally clink of the flight attendants heels, and that was what made it hard to sleep. She was used to having noise around her. In Texas it had been the train horns or Lyle's television then in New York it was the traffic and the music. She had become so accustomed to sound that silence alarmed her.

Her eyelids peaking apart, she stared at the shade pulled down over the window. Her curiosity taking control of her brain, she lifted the shade and peeped out into the black night. She cupped her hands around her head, like blinders on a horse, and was able to make out clouds migrating around them. Below them, a mass of something unrecognizable slumbered. She couldn't tell if it was the Atlantic Ocean or just a wall of clouds, but decided not to bother Peter with figuring it out.

"My butt hurts." she said suddenly, shutting the shade again and repositioning herself. "My butt, my butt, my lovely lady butt…"

Peter, creasing the corner of the page, snapped his book closed, stuffing it in the messenger bag that he kicked over to Claire's side since she had her feet on the seat, and pushed up the armrest that separated them. "See? That's how I know you're tired."

Claire shrugged and grabbed her pillow, tossing it towards Peter and untangling her legs from the blanket, kicking it away. She maneuvered her body so she was curled into a fetal position, head in Peter's lap, both completely comfortable with the situation. Peter stroked her golden hair as she gazed up at him, her eyes drooping closed as if fighting the war against sleep. Turning her head, her hand grabbed his sunglasses hanging from the net pouch and she slipped the Neo-style shades on, fluffing out her hair so the curls framed her round face.

Peter licked his lip, containing the smile, then dug out his phone, jumping around to find the camera. Finally finding it, he directed the phone, watching the small screen carefully, so that it was able to accommodate Claire's entire face and part of her neck. Then he snapped the picture just as she raised her hand above her head in a peace sign, her lips scrunched, a flutter of the lenses sounding noisily.

Claire giggled then returned the shades to their owner, Peter gratefully taking them and placing them over his own eyes. "Night, Peter."

Peter kissed his fingers then placed them on her forehead. "Night, Claire."

XXXX

**A/N: **So, there. Chapter three rewritten. Is it any better? Please review, like it or not.


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